Darkest Days
by acciodanrad9
Summary: At the end of the final battle, Petunia finds her nephew dead and herself falling apart.


**Disclaimer: **_Characters are not mine._

**Darkest Days**

It was an ordinary day at Number Four, Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley was busy cleaning her house, making sure that everything was spotless for when her husband and son got home for dinner.

Sighing to herself, she finished dusting the pictures of her precious son, Dudley. She couldn't believe how grown up and handsome he had gotten—he was going to grow into a fine young man.

If you looked around the living room, or the whole house for that matter, you wouldn't see any pictures of her nephew, Harry. If you were just a visitor, you would be shocked to find out that her nephew lived with her (during the summer, at least)—or that she even _had_ a nephew.

Petunia had made a promise to herself a long time ago that she would never have any pictures of her freak nephew lying around her house—ever. And to this day, she had stuck to that promise.

She shuttered at the thought of what would happen if she _had_ pictures of him lying around, and how people would react if they saw them.

Walking back into the kitchen, she put away her cleaning tools and put a pot of hot water on the stove, starting to make herself a cup of tea.

A few minutes later, she sat at the table with her cup of tea in hand, sipping it occasionally.

She was jerked out of her thoughts when a large black owl came swooping in through her open window. Looking at the letter with disgust, she started to open it, knowing that the letter contained the date and time that she had to pick Harry up from the station in a week's time. Luckily, this was his last summer and then he would soon be out of her hair forever.

To her surprise, the letter was not the date and time to pick Harry up, but a letter from his headmaster, Dumbledore.

_Dear Petunia,_

_It is my greatest condolence to inform you that your nephew, Harry, has passed away. He died last night during the final battle with the Dark Lord—Voldemort, whom I presume you already know about from you dear sister, Lily—he took her life, too._

_Harry defeated the Dark Lord last night—risking his life his life in the process, but saving many others. Harry has accomplished the unimaginable and I bet you could not be prouder of him._

_His death is a terrible loss to the wizarding world and we tried everything to revive him from the curse that Voldemort had thrown at him, but we were too late. There was nothing we could do. We believe he died as soon as the curse hit him. His death caused Voldemort to die at the same time. We suspect that they both had too much of each other's blood to live without the other alive._

_It may be complicated, but I'm sure you don't want to hear the rest of the horrific details._

_Harry was one of the bravest, courageous, kindest wizards I ever got the pleasure to meet. I almost felt like a grandfather towards him. _

_Harry had two of the most wonderful friends you could ever have the pleasure to meet. They never acted differently around him, regardless of the fame he was constantly surrounded with. They made him feel like Harry for once, and not the famous Boy-Who-Lived._

_There isn't much left to say in this letter. I'm sure you don't want to hear any more morbid news._

_I just wanted to let you know that we will be having a funeral for Harry this Saturday at one o'clock at Hogwarts. That's where he wanted it to be—nothing too fancy. We hope that you will join us on this sad occasion. I'm sure Harry would have wanted you to be there._

_My greatest condolences,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. The owl has a sack of floo powder—take it. I know you know how to use it._

Petunia glanced at the paper, some words blurred from obvious tears the author had been releasing as he wrote the letter.

She was shocked. _Was Harry really dead?_

A few shameful tears flowed down her cheeks. She couldn't believe that she was crying over her dead nephew, whom she'd hated ever since she had laid eyes on him.

She should be glad that she would never have to put up with him again. But at the same time these thoughts ran through her head, she felt as if something had been ripped from her heart—torn into a million pieces, never to be replaced again.

Petunia didn't count the hours that she sat there at the table, re-reading the letter or just sitting there thinking of all the memories she had with Harry, even if they weren't good ones.

Hearing the door slam open, she saw her husband and son walk into the room with confused looks upon seeing her, sitting at the table, tear streaks running down her cheeks, and no dinner set.

"What's the matter, Pet?" inquired Mr. Dursley as he walked to the table and wrapped his arms around her, trying to find out what the source of the problem was.

"Oh, it's nothing that you would care to know," resigned Petunia, trying to hide the letter, having no thoughts of letting her husband see that she had been crying over her dead nephew.

"Pet, let me see what that letter says," he demanded, while pulling it out of her weak hands.

She watched as his eyes scanned the letter, while a smile grew on his face. "This is great! This is the best news I've had for a while. Pet, why were you crying? We should be celebrating. That freak nephew of yours is dead," said Vernon happily while jubilantly walking over to the cabinet, no doubt for a glass of wine.

Petunia heard Dudley gasp at the newly formed news, and sadly saw his lips form a wide smile. "Can I have my room back? He's been in there far too long."

Glancing at her husband and son, she responded in a quiet voice, "I'm not feeling too well, dear. I think I'll go upstairs for a nap. There should be some leftovers in the fridge for dinner."

Before Vernon or Dudley could answer her, she was halfway up the stairs. Instead of going into her room for a nap like she had told them, she took a different route, into Harry's room.

Opening the door, she was greeted with a small bare bedroom with only a bed, desk, and a dresser. If anyone walked into this room they would have no idea that it was her nephew's. It looked just like a normal guest bedroom; Harry never left any of his belongings at Privet Drive while he was away.

A few more tears poured from her eyes and down her cheeks. She knew what she was feeling—it was guilt.

Ever since she had read the letter from Dumbledore, she couldn't stop remembering all of the memories she had of her nephew. But the only problem was, every single one of them was horrible.

There wasn't one memory where she had treated Harry like a decent child. A child who needed to be comforted—a child who just wanted to be loved. She had done everything that she could possibly imagine wrong. She hadn't treated him like a person, but more like a freak.

Lying down on Harry's bed, she drew in a sharp breath as she felt the painful springs jab into her back. How could Harry live like this and never complain?

Not once.

Surveying the room, she noticed the dents in the walls from the time they had put the bars on his window. She shuttered at the thought of how much of a prisoner he must have felt with bars and locks.

He must have never considered this place home.

More tears started to roll down her cheeks, and she couldn't stop them. Another flood of guilt passed through and the more she thought about the life she had given Harry, the guiltier she felt.

She fell into a troubled sleep, thinking of her dead nephew she would never see again, muttering the same thing over and over again, "I'm sorry, Harry. So sorry."

_Fin._


End file.
